


we are the new americana

by apollofastingdionysusdrunk (orphan_account)



Series: turn off the sun 'cause you're the only light i want [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Friendship, Gangs, Hamilsquad, i just want to indulge in my hamilton obsession, literally no plot, this has no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:26:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/apollofastingdionysusdrunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With every frenetic sentence that comes from his mouth, Burr feels a hurricane shaking beneath his feet.</p><p>-<br/>Or a modern AU of revolutionaries being useless gang members, everyone is high, and Aaron and Alex actually don't resent each other's guts???</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are the new americana

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of Princeton, they all enroll in this fictional college called Lamberton. Lafayette is genderfluid and assume that (with the exception of Burr) they've all slept and dated each other before.

Hamilton had a constant air of self-assurance around him. He talked with an ascending tone of voice succumbing into fits of passion, all of the energy and charisma sizzling inside his bones unfolding inside each and every word. Hamilton was an irresistible artist with words, forming them into solar systems he memorized well, and everybody listened to that golden orator.

Burr had told him to smile more and talk less within the first ten minutes of their first encounter from three years ago. He was bewildered at the sight of this impassioned, excited college freshman bounding up to him in almost childish astonishment, prodding Burr with questions about his studies. Aaron Burr – lawyer in the making, theological genius - was more or less known as a prodigy around Lamberton, so diligent that he graduated from high school at 16 and was the youngest college freshman. No surprise there, that Alexander Hamilton had heard his name spoken with admiration.

Within their first conversation, doing the direct opposite of Burr’s suggestion of talking less and smiling more would be an understatement. To his credit, the kid was fucking _smart_. In his bag, he had already filled multiple notebooks with complex notes on quantum mechanics, kinematics, statistics, economics, political science, coding theory, algorithms, and Greek and Latin. With every frenetic sentence that comes from his mouth, Burr feels a hurricane shaking beneath his feet.

Now he was leaning against the hood of Burr’s Lexus, smoking a Lucky Strike cigarette and tapping his feet against the ground. Hamilton was always impatient, relentless in his struggle of managing ten different tasks at once with equal efficiency. He still hasn’t got a reasonable amount of sleep, if his shadow of a beard and the dark bags hanging beneath his eyes were any symptoms to rely on.

“Finally, there you are,” Hamilton pretended to scowl, but Burr could detect a hint of a mischievous smirk.

“Ah, I see the whole gang is here,” Burr drawled, getting into the driver’s seat. Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette were all crammed next to each other in the backseat, forming a three-headed creature with sprawling limbs of varying sizes and very apparent contrasting fashion choices. Lafayette’s flamboyant French brands with elegant cufflinks and fancy scarves, Mulligan’s American jersey sweater and bandanna, Laurens’ plaid shirt and beanie with ugly knitted letters of _SAM ADAMS_ were discomforting to the eyes.

Lafayette met his eye in the rearview mirror. “Bonsoir, mon ami,” they grinned, “blame Alex. The bastard insists that we go for a drive.”

“It would do you good,” Laurens said. “You spend way too much time chained to your desk and books, Alex.”

“I am chained to you, too,” Hamilton quipped, “in my heart, body, and soul, yet you never complain.”

Laurens winked. “That, I don’t mind. At least you become energized in that respect. But your endless writing and nonexistent sleeping schedule is going to wear you down.”

“ _You_ wear me down,” Hamilton teased.

“Oh my god, get your naughty flirting out of here,” Mulligan complained.

“Dude, you complain about how it’s hard to intercourse over four sets of boobs all the time,” Laurens chuckled.

“Of course it’s hard! I’d recommend you to try it out anyway, if you weren’t too busy performing the spread eagle on Hammy or any dude who remotely looks like Aaron Tveit.”

“Shut it, Mulligan. I know you jerked off to him in _Wicked_.”

“Those Fiyero pants are on fire! Except when Laf wears them, of course,” Mulligan pretended to howl with pain when Lafayette smacked him.

“You should be nice to me, or you won’t get a piece of _this_ until March.”

“Your own words will only bite back at your own pretty ass, mon chéri.”

Burr snorted. “You bright young individuals horse around like pirates, I swear.” He looked out of his window to New York, so packed together with dashes of light, and wondered if this would be the closest he ever felt to home. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He would’ve gladly stayed in his own head, but the cheekiness in Laurens’ voice lured him back.

“I’ve heard you’ve got a special someone on the side, Burr,” he winked.

Hamilton glanced at him, a spark rising in his face. “Oh, is that so? That’s certainly new.”

“I will tell you all nothing.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “Not Angelica, I hope?”

Angelica Schuyler was the eldest sister out of the three Schuyler sisters, daughters of an affluent New York family. Philip Schuyler was a prominent Republican politician, which means his daughters were frequently under public scrutiny. From what Burr had seen of them, they were all attractive – each in their own ways; Angelica with her witty, sharp-eyed intelligence, Eliza with her elegant and graceful loveliness, Peggy with her endearing wide eyes and expressive features.

Angelica, however, struck him as the most impressive and accomplished: a Harvard law student, raising various charities for disadvantaged women and children, extremely likeable among the social elite, and already creating a political legacy in her own right with rather Leftist views. But when he encountered her in New York years ago, she had deliberately closed that hopeful option of courtship immediately.

“No, not Angelica. Or any of her sisters.”

“That would be impossible, since Eliza’s too smitten with Alex over here and Peggy has a girlfriend, Maria, although it seems the latter is still trying to break up with her broke boyfriend James,” Lafayette laughed.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Peggy,” Hamilton raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Man, Peggy confides in me and I didn’t even know that much about her girlfriend.”

“Social media, mon amour.”

“So who is this oh-so-lucky babe, Burr?” Mulligan wiggled his eyebrows.

“He wouldn’t tell us anything,” Laurens pouted.

“Her name is Theodosia Prevost,” Burr snapped. “Will you all stop bothering me now?”

“Yo, she’s smokin’ hot,” whistled Mulligan. “Well done, Burr.”

“That’s the end of the story,” Burr huffed.

It would’ve been the end of the story anyways, because by then an obnoxious roaring Alfa Romeo had pulled up beside them, the shotgunner rolling their window down. James Madison’s grinning face appeared, smug at the intolerance seated on Burr’s expression.

“Yo, Burr, havin’ a blast with your liberal socialist gang?”

“More fun than you must have having hanging out with your only friend, the personification of a battered, pissed-upon troll doll!” Hamilton yelled, craning his neck forward.

“Your mouth will be the death of you one day, Hamilton!” Jefferson’s voice stabbed the air between the two racing cars. Burr wondered, with exasperation, if this was Hamilton’s idea: to compete with Jefferson on another race to erase the wound from last time’s slight failure, as if the law on speed limit was an abstract concept.

Burr noticed the sharp gleam of ambition in Hamilton’s eyes like candlelight burning away mist.

“Ideally, it’d be the death of you!” Hamilton hollered.

Jefferson scowled. “See you on the other side of the war.”

 

They met Thomas Jefferson and James Madison at a frat party, Siamese twins in the form of socially privileged, arrogant, opulent, and pretentious college boys. Granted, Burr could give Madison the credit of being the quieter of the two with a hint of an impulse control, even though he mocked those who read Aristophanes and wears tailored waistcoats while riding expensive motorcycles. Madison was a fool anyways, limiting himself to reliance upon Jefferson’s formless, shapeless ideas of society.

But Burr never told them so.

Hamilton, on the other, said as much the first time he met the pair. Burr had to yank the smaller man away before he and Madison rip each other’s faces to shreds. “Tweedledum and Tweedledee” became the code name for Jefferson and Madison in Hamilton’s vocabulary, spoken with disdain and ridicule. Temperamental flare of flame he may be, Hamilton rarely genuinely hated anyone, yet Burr was sure those two were the exception.

Since then, it has always been a constant rivalry between Hamilton and “Tweedledum and Tweedledee.” Gambling, politics, debating, academics, social status, racing, sports; it was non-stop and exhausting, and Burr was tired of getting calls and intrusions from Hamilton asking for his help in the latest hours of the night.

Just as he was finishing taking notes from his Corporate Law textbook, Hamilton slammed his dorm door open and barged inside with all the authority of a landlord.

“Those damned bastards – you would not believe – how can two such oblivious, ignorant, controversial loud-mouthed _stray dogs_ be attendants at Lamberton and members of the most prominent societies here?”

“Because they come from rich families,” Burr muttered. “I wish you wouldn’t say as much around them in public, such statements make you sound too abrasive and envious. People would connect your name towards jealousy, and whatever you do will be compared to their work.”

“I have done an astounding amount of work,” Hamilton frowned. “I’ve made plenty of affluent acquaintances here, have the best grades in all my classes, won the last few debates at the Cliosophic Society for promoting the Federalist government, and have been in the _Lamberton Times_ for my political and literary voice.”

Burr swallowed a bitter tinge of hypocritical envy. He was also part of the Cliosophic Society, longer than Hamilton has been, yet it’s such a struggle for him to get his name registered to the leaders. Hamilton had always arose to the top so effortlessly, each jump packed with so much ambition and honor, as if he was striving to reach the sun each day of his young life. Burr wasn’t like that, _could never be like that_ , for his feet was shackled with too much caution to throw away his shot towards the sky and only to watch it land beyond chances and missing the goal.

Hamilton looked at him, and Burr’s skin itched beneath the sudden focus. “You know, it’s not too late into the evening to catch the sun yet.”

“What’s going on with you today? Don’t you have to study for your exams?” Burr rolled his eyes.

“I have the whole night for that. You know I don’t have a normal sleeping schedule anyways.”

“That you don’t.”

 


End file.
